by Clea Simon
“She does like to be the center of attention.” Becca looked thoughtful. “And when I found Suzanne, her door was open.”
“Her door?” Ande sounded confused and gasped as the import of Becca’s statement hit her. “You mean, like she opened it for someone? Oh, you can’t mean…Becca, no.”
“Did the police talk to you?” Becca answered Ande’s question with her own, a curious look on her face. “Because they should really know about this.”
“No.” Ande started backing away. “They haven’t. And why should they? I mean, all I can really say for sure is that Larissa is careless with her bank balance and she doesn’t want anyone to know it.”
“I don’t know what to think.” Becca laughed softly. “Because I told the police that Suzanne was my friend too, and they’re still asking questions about me, Ande. They think I might have done it.”
Chapter 17
“That’s ridiculous!” Ande rejected the idea that Becca could be considered a suspect. “It had to be a stranger. She must have just opened her door to someone she didn’t know.”
Clara watched Becca as she listened to her colleague’s increasingly heated protest. Ande’s words echoed what Becca herself had said, her pet knew, and yet the focus visible on her person’s face suggested that her own dear person wasn’t accepting her own answer so readily from the other woman.
That focus seemed to grow sharper—and almost catlike—as Becca narrowed her eyes and pressed for more detail about the coven finances. If Becca had whiskers, Clara thought, they would have been bristling as Ande continued to stonewall.
“It’s silly, really.” The accountant fluttered those elegant hands as if she could dispel the thought. “Larissa doesn’t care, so I don’t even know why Suzanne bothered. Larissa is the one putting the money up.” But when Becca pressed her about what else might have been worrying the dead woman, Ande only shook her head.
“She and I weren’t that close,” she kept repeating. “I mean, she asked about my work—she had only recently started some new job herself, something Larissa helped set her up with, so I think it was just conversation, you know?”
Knowing how limited human senses could be, Clara snuck up to the other woman at that point, sniffing at the accountant’s chic boots to see if she could pick up on anything more than general distress. This close to a grocery store, such a task could be a challenge: the aromas of meat and fish, herbs and produce were as distracting as fireworks to acute feline senses. Before she could get a good take, Becca appeared to give up on the financial thread and instead began insisting that Ande inform the police about her conversations with Larissa. At that, Ande grew so distraught that she abandoned her errand, leaving before she had even begun her shopping.
But although the calico briefly wondered if Becca’s mission would be similarly derailed, she soon realized she hadn’t counted on her person’s loyalty and focus. No matter what else was on her mind, Becca wasn’t going to come home empty-handed. Of course, the flicker of fur Clara caught out of the corner of her eye as they entered the grocery might have had something to do with that. Clara didn’t think either Harriet or Laurel could influence Becca’s thoughts that much, but she was pretty sure they had found a way to keep both “cat” and “food” in the consciousness of their impressionable person.
“Don’t you have any of the turkey treat?” Becca was evidently under Harriet’s influence. The fluffy marmalade adored poultry flavors, and the shelf in front of her was fully stocked with Clara’s favorite tuna feast.
“I’ll check, miss.” The harried-looking clerk took off, leaving Becca standing there. Clara did her best to concentrate.
“I wonder if the missing funds were really what was bothering Suzanne?” She reached and—yes!—took two of the tuna cans from the display as she mused. “But if there was something else going on, why wouldn’t Ande tell me about it?” She absently reached out, putting two more cans in her basket, and Clara began to reevaluate her own powers of psychic suggestion. “Just because they both dated Trent…”
By the time the clerk re-appeared, a case of the horrid turkey treat in his arms, she’d loaded up on Clara’s preferred flavor. “Here you go.” His smile looked a bit forced as he held the opened case out to Becca.
“Oh.” She looked into her basket and back up at him. “Thank you,” she said, taking two cans. Clara was grateful her distracted human couldn’t see his expression as she turned toward the checkout.
“Maybe I should reach out to Larissa.” Becca might have thought she was talking to herself as she paid for the cans, but Clara wondered if her person sensed her presence nearby. After all, she was missing an important element—the cat’s concern over the direction her thoughts were headed.
“I mean, the police would never understand about the coven and why it matters,” Becca mused as she loaded up her bag. “They’ll just think she’s a Cambridge flake, starting up a coven of witches in this day and age. But if there is something hinky with that bank account, and Suzanne found out, that could be something. As it is, they’re only looking at Suzanne and Jeff, and if they find out Ande had gone out with Trent too, and Jeff tells them about Suzanne’s necklace—”
Almost out the door, she stopped short, causing a businessman on his cell to bump into her. “Watch it, lady!”
She let him walk by in silence, a look of horror on her face. “If they look at my search history and see I was trying to find out about her…” Hiking her bag higher on her shoulder, she began to walk again, faster than before.
Chapter 18
Even if looks couldn’t kill, Clara knew that by rights she should be singed hairless. Harriet was not happy with the selection that Becca unpacked, and from the way she glared at her baby sister, Clara knew her creamsicle sibling had sussed out that the little calico had made her preference felt.
“Honest, I was only listening.” Clara protested in vain. “I only wanted to keep her out of trouble.”
“Like you want to be the only one who can use her power,” Harriet grumbled even as she played up to Becca, rubbing against her shins like she hadn’t seen her in a week. “Like you’re the only one with any magic.”
“I didn’t use any—” Clara stopped herself. “I only passed through the door.” The little calico was fundamentally honest, but she knew better than to add that Laurel had been there too. Harriet was angry enough as it was. “And I did remind her why she had gone shopping. She was getting distracted.”
“Right.” Harriet grunted when she ate, which she did as soon as the first dish was placed on the mat. She might not like the tuna feast, but that didn’t mean she was going to pass up a meal.
“You can make the other cans re-appear tomorrow.” Clara tried to make nice. “Besides, I’m worried about Becca. She thinks she needs to help the police solve Suzanne’s murder.”
“Not a bad idea.” Laurel appeared with a yawn, as if from a nap in some other dimension. “And she may have a chance to do some hunting tonight too.”
“Hunting?” Clara glanced up at Becca. She was listening to a phone message, a furrow appearing in her brow. “But she’s just come in. She’s exhausted.”
Laurel only lashed her tail in dismissal, and so Clara turned back to their person. Becca was standing and staring at the phone, as if it had just bitten her. When it began to ring again, she jumped.
“Hello?” She sounded as breathless as if she’d just come in from a run. “Oh, Trent.” She sagged against the wall. “I’m sorry, I just got your message. All of this with Suzanne, and now the police…” She paused. “It’s a long story. I’m sure I can clear it up. You haven’t spoken to them today, have you?
“Well, that would have been too easy.” Even her voice was weary. “But how can I help you?”
Clara’s hearing was as acute as any cat’s, and the magic helped. Still, even with her black-tipped ears tilted forward to
catch every sound, she couldn’t hear more than a tinny voice saying something about “dinner.”
“Tonight?” Becca winced. “Well, to be honest, I’m kind of wiped out. And Larissa said we’re going to have our regular coven meeting on Wednesday.” More talk that the cat couldn’t hear. “Of course, you’re right, Trent. I do have to eat.”
Clara listened with rising panic as Becca’s voice went softer and lighter both. “The River Café? Sure. That would be nice.”
Beside her, Laurel purred and licked her chops as Harriet scarfed up the last few crumbs of food in her dish and began to eye Clara’s. But the youngest of the three cats blocked her sister out of habit, barely noticing as the orange and white fluffball flounced off. Because Becca had hung up, and turned toward the two cats who remained in the kitchen. For a moment, Clara almost thought Becca could see her concern.
“Well, kitties, I’m going out to dinner with the man who seems to be in the middle of this mess,” she said, her voice growing thoughtful. “So now maybe I’ll be able to get some answers.” Clara knew then that her person hadn’t understood her at all, and she looked at her sister in alarm. But Laurel only turned in that dismissive way that all Siamese have and began to bathe.
“I wonder what I should wear.” Becca wandered out of the kitchen, not even noticing that Clara’s dinner had barely been touched. “And if there’s a spell that might help me decide.”
Chapter 19
The hissing commenced as soon as Becca opened her closet.
“I cannot believe you want her to dress like that.” Clara’s fur had expanded in her rage. She was a small cat, but fluffed out like this, she could have covered the stretch velvet mini that lay on the bed. “He might be dangerous.”
“Silly little girl!” Laurel spat back, her dark ears flat on her head. “Don’t you see? She could control the situation, looking so slinky.” Her blue eyes took in the velvet frock, although whether she wanted to scratch it or roll on it, her sister couldn’t tell. “If she brought him back here, we could question him. Only you—you—” Her rage devolved into wordless spatter, and she turned her back on her sibling and proceeded to wash.
“You!” With one last exhalation, more sigh than hiss, Clara began to calm down. At least she had stopped her sister, slapping her on her chocolate nose just as Laurel had begun to work on Becca. Clara didn’t know if it was because Laurel’s powers were limited or her sister was simply lazy, but she did know that the other cat’s ability to implant suggestions in others’ minds was vague at best. If Becca hadn’t already been considering her upcoming dinner a sort of date, Laurel might not have been able to steer her toward that short velvet number. Still, it was a close call, and Clara wasn’t able to relax until her person left the house in a flowered frock that fit her—and the occasion—more comfortably. If it were not for that well-placed bonk, Becca might have wiggled into that stretchy dress—and into more trouble.
“Spoil sport.” Laurel muttered as she bathed. “Now we’re both going to miss the fun.”
Clara deflated, her fur settling in despair. It was true, her squabble with her sister had kept her in the bedroom too long. Without any idea where Becca had gone, she was at a loss—unable to follow. And so with one bound, she leaped to the windowsill. Nudging aside Harriet, who was napping again, she settled in to watch and wait for Becca to return.
***
“Merry meet, Becca. How are you doing?” Even giving the coven’s ritual greeting, Trent’s voice rumbled deep and confidential, and as his questions turned personal, Becca felt her color rising in response. “I’ve been so worried about you. I didn’t want to wait until Wednesday.”
Despite the melancholy motive for this get together, the setting felt distinctly intimate. Maybe it was because the waitress had led her to a booth in the back, rather than the open seats at the counter. Maybe it was the nice shirt the warlock was wearing, open just enough for her to see the glint of gold nestled in the dark hair of his chest. As he leaned forward, it bobbed, and she found herself staring—and wondering once more if she should have gone with the sexier outfit. She blamed her slight buzz. She should probably have objected when he’d ordered the pitcher of margaritas. She definitely shouldn’t have taken such a big swallow, even if it was the house special, strawberry, her personal favorite.
“Thanks.” She bent once more over the menu, hoping to hide her face, which felt as rosy as that drink. She was having trouble concentrating, and she didn’t think it was just the alcohol. “I’m okay. It’s just been exhausting.”
“Of course,” he said, his voice warm with understanding, and Becca relaxed. It would have been too odd to try to explain that she kept thinking about her cats. They were home, safe, and she was the one out. But even though she was sitting here—at the River Café with Trent—she kind of wished she was with them. At home. Snuggled up on the sofa. Trent, however, was doing his best to be solicitous. “You’ve probably spent way too much time with the police these last few days.”
She nodded. “I know they’re doing their job—and I want them to. Only they had me come in this morning, and it was, well, weird.”
“I can imagine.” His voice as soft as a purr. “They must have had a lot of questions.”
She nodded. “They did.” The margarita had been a bad idea. But he was waiting, his dark eyes full of concern. “They were asking about the coven and, well, about the man she was dating.”
“Suzanne was seeing someone?” A note of excitement—or could it have been regret?—tightened his voice.
The effect must have been contagious, because all of a sudden Becca found it hard to swallow. “My ex.” She choked out the words. “But I think that was over.”
Thoughts of Jeff and of that last phone call on the stairs of Suzanne’s apartment, and suddenly it all came back. Her voice caught in a sob, and Trent leaned forward, reaching across the table as if to embrace her. It was too much. Becca felt like a fool and drew back, embarrassed, even as she found herself staring once more at his chest—and at the gold medallion that had swung forward from inside his shirt.
“Is that…?” Becca stopped herself from stretching out her hand for it, silently blaming the margarita once more.
“A witches’ knot.” To her relief, he glanced down and grasped the gold medallion himself, holding it still to allow Becca to see the intricate looped design on its front. “You have a good eye.”
His own eyes twinkled as he smiled, but Becca only shook her head, confused.
“It has charms on it, and not everyone would see it right away.” His voice was low and conspiratorial. “But we already knew you have power.”
“I guess.” Becca turned away. Bad enough that she was out alone with Trent—a member of the coven who had romanced several of their colleagues already—she’d been caught staring at his chest. They were supposedly going to talk about the death of one of their own too.
“I’m so sorry,” he said. Though if he meant in general or for reaching for her, Becca didn’t know.
“Me too.” She looked up into eyes that were shadowed and deep set. Could those be tears as well? Now it was her turn to reach out for his hand. “Were you and Suzanne close?”
A slow, sad shake of the head. “Not anymore,” he said. “She’d been going through something, I think.”
Becca nodded, her last conversation with the dead woman coming back to her mind. “I know she had questions.” She bit her lip, unsure of how much she wanted to reveal. Trent was a friend, but still… “I think she was worried about money.”
“Money?” Trent pursed his lips in thought. “Do you know why?”
Becca considered. “I’m not sure. You don’t think that’s why she was…” She swallowed. Hard.
“No, no.” Trent rushed to correct himself. “I mean, I don’t know. But, well, Suzanne had been acting odd for a while now. And you saw how skinny she was.�
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“Skinny?” She was sounding like a parrot. That margarita.
“Not an ounce of flesh on her.” He had her hand now. His thumb brushed over hers. It was all too confusing. “Speaking of—should we order?”
Only then did Becca notice the waitress standing beside them, pad in hand. From the smile she suddenly dropped to the way she straightened, she must have been there for a while.
“Oh, sorry.” Becca was too flustered to consult the menu. “I’ll have a salad?”
“How about nachos for the table?” Trent leaned in with a conspiratorial smile. After that comment about Suzanne being skinny, his suggestion sounded flirtatious.
“Sure.” Becca pushed her menu at the waiting server and eyed the margarita glass. “And, uh, a Diet Coke?”
She pretended not to hear the waitress’s snicker as she walked off, instead steeling herself for the task at hand. “So, what have you heard?” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she regretted them. She wasn’t after gossip.
“Nothing concrete.” Trent leaned forward again. “Just enough so that I was worried about her.”
“Oh?” The server plunked down her new drink with a thud as Becca took a few moments to reorganize her thoughts. Jeff had hinted that Suzanne and the warlock had had a brief romance, and Kathy had confirmed it. Trent seemed to be denying this. Or was he? Pushing the sticky strawberry glass aside, she took a swallow of the soft drink. More caffeine—that’s what she needed.
“Poor Suzanne.” When she put the glass down, she saw that Trent was shaking his head slowly. “I’m sorry I didn’t pursue it.”
Now she was getting somewhere. “Pursue it?” She waited.
“She was troubled.” Another slow sad dismissal as the waitress slid a plate of nachos onto the table. “I should have—well, I knew something was bothering her. It was selfish of me not to get involved.”
“Selfish?” That parrot again.
Trent didn’t seem to notice as he pulled a chip free of the sticky cheese. “Her being so skinny and all. I don’t know anything for sure.” He looked up, his dark eyes as melting as that cheese. “But I was wondering if she was on drugs.”